To Catch a Creeper Read Online Free Page A

themselves.’
    I definitely don’t like this. I’m almost under the table, head ducking into my shoulders against numerous pairs of staring eyes.
    ‘Exactly,’ says Turks. ‘It’s a no go, Gurlet, I’m afraid. See if you can come up with a version of hip that doesn’t fit into some stereotypical image of our ethnic society. Last thing we need is the racial equality commission hounding us.’ He shudders. ‘We could end up accused of regressing the black movement forty years. Meeting over, everyone.’
    ***
    There’s a heavy silence between Rosa and me as we wait until last before leaving the conference room. I’m not risking running into Gurlet.
    Then, ‘I think that went quite well,’ she says in a fake normal voice.
    ‘Oh God, I didn’t…I wasn’t…I thought it was a good campaign. Honestly. Really colourful. And clever. I was just trying to say something halfway intelligent. And now Gurlet probably thinks I scuppered it on purpose. The way he dug those pointy eyes into mine.’
    ‘Who cares?’ she shrugs. ‘He’s a total tosser, anyway. Do him good to get taken down a peg. And Turks was obviously impressed with what you said.’
    She leads me along the corridor, keeping up the reassuring chatter, though as far as I’m concerned it could be the Green Mile with me heading for old sparkie and Rosa shouting, ‘Dead Man Walking!’ so people have the decency not to stare.
    ‘I really did think they were Rastafarians,’ I try to explain as we turn the corner towards our office. ‘What an idiot. And then I almost died when Vicious Viv got stuck in.All those cracks about moronic housewives watching reality shows. Do you think she was having a go at me?’
    ‘Of course not,’ Rosa says dismissively, before a glint enters her eyes. ‘Although I’d like to stick her on a reality show – something with big hairy rats in.’
    ‘Yeah and she’d have to eat them all and everyone at home would be calling out, “Go on, Vicious Viv” as a long pink tail slithers down her neck. “Go on.” And Viv…’
    I stop as Rosa elbows me in the ribs. Vivien’s standing inches away leaning against the water dispenser and by the scowl on her face she’s heard every word.

Chapter 3
    For the first time since I started at Younger and Wilding, I feel like I’m escaping as I climb the spiral stairs of the double-decker bus. What a day!
    As we reach the familiar boundaries of Crouch End I breathe a great big sigh of relief.
    London, N8. West of Wood Green, east of Golders Green, south of Muswell Hill, north of Archway. Residents like it here because a) we don’t have a tube station, so we’re kind of an isolated pocket and b) everyone knows each other in one way or another. Hang around a few months and it’s almost impossible to walk down the Broadway without being accosted by someone you know from playgroup, Montessori, YMCA, Pilates, primary schools, etc. It’s like you’re a star, but of course, you’re not because everyone in Crouch End’s the same.
    ***
    After picking up Josh and Sophie, I arrive home to be greeted on the second from bottom stair by another pile of cat vomit.
    Great. Truly great.
    I hold my left arm out as a barrier. ‘Wide berth, guys.’
    ‘Not again!’ Sophie says in disgust.
    ‘Yukkee da!’ exclaims Josh.
    As I drop my little package of puke into the wheelie bin, I spot the elderly Mrs Baker outside her back door in the company of a tall thin man with a shock of white curly hair and an exasperated-looking woman in her late fifties, who I recognise from moving in day as her daughter, Eleanor. Also known as Mrs Baker. They both married Bakers apparently. Not bakers as in bread makers, just bakers as in Mr Baker, though I’m told not related. The man and the young Mrs Baker, Eleanor, are talking earnestly while staring up at the old Mrs Baker’s top floor windows.
    ‘Mother,’ I hear her say, ‘I really don’t think–’
    ‘You can never be too careful,’ the older Mrs